


Wherever You Are Is Home

by Boy-garbage (BloodPuker)



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Comfort, Crying, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Excessive Drinking, First Kiss, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Getting Together, Light Angst, M/M, Not Beta Read, Other, South Downs Cottage (Good Omens), Tumblr Prompt, but its just bc they love eachother so much, soft, this is so soft im so soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-21
Updated: 2019-09-21
Packaged: 2020-10-25 05:09:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20718629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BloodPuker/pseuds/Boy-garbage
Summary: Prompt: After they went to the Ritz after Armageddon’t Aziraphale panics and leaves. When Crowley looks for him, the book shop is almost empty. But he finds something. A clue. Then Crowley ‘hunts’ his angel all over the world. (then he finds him in his (Crowleys) London apartment. You can use this or something of this. As you like. Never done this before. I hope you feel better soon<3(Prompt from @abirdonalilactree on tumblr!)Okay so I followed this... mostly. My brain liked this idea and decided to run with it. I'm not sure why I wrote it in present tense. I hope you like it!!!





	Wherever You Are Is Home

**Author's Note:**

> This took me WAY too long to write and I'm so very sorry for that. Not just to the prompter, but also to those of you I have told I am working on fics. I am! I promise! I'm just going through it right now........  
I have so many word docs with... half written fics. It'll get there. I will post more, I'm speaking it into the universe. One word at a time!

“Well, that was a thing” Crowley peered through his dark glasses to the once seated chair, now knocked across the floor. A waitress heard the commotion and snapped her head towards the table. She tried to follow the man in the creme suit, but she realized she never actually saw him leave. He was there, and then he simply wasn’t. The man left still sitting made a motion for the check, and she happily obliged. It had been a long shift, and this was her last table. When she got to the table, the man held out a wad of cash and told her to keep the change. She sputtered that she couldn’t possibly keep all that, but he stood up and stormed out the doors before the waitress could really get the words out.

_ Miracles himself away? Can’t be too close by then…  _ Crowley thought to himself as he threw the Bentley into gear and floored it down the streets. Whizzing around other vehicles and pedestrians, he eventually screeches to a halt in front of the old bookshop. 

He sits there.

Too long, perhaps.

He exits the vehicle and slowly walks up to the big mahogany doors. He can see inside; Everything is fine, in fact, it’s cleaner than he’s seen it in a century. So why can’t he bring himself to go inside?

He realizes he doesn’t need to go inside. He can see the clothes rack that stands by the door from here, and Aziraphale’s coat it nowhere to be seen. With this, he climbs back into the Bentley and speeds off towards his Mayfair flat.

He parks in his usual (illegal) spot just across from the apartment complex, and heads in. He gives the plants in the lobby a glaring as the elevator doors close in front of him. He hits the button for the 13th floor, and the elevator ascends a bit faster than the manufacturers standards, reaching the entrance to Crowley’s penthouse suite in just a few seconds.

The elevator tone dings, and Crowley exits to his flat. Inside, it’s cold and dark. With a snap, the lights all shine and the plants tremble.

“ **If you spent more time growing and less time whining, I wouldn’t have to be upset!** ” He growls at them. They still, unsure of what to do. Crowley leaves the room, fetching a bottle of Dom Perginon from the pantry. The plants sigh in relief as he takes a seat at his desk, kicking his feet up and popping the cork out of the bottle. He takes a big swig--

_ Think, Crowley, think! Where could he have gone… _

Another bottle (or 3) later, Crowley comes up with a brilliant plan to look for his angel. He takes the final drink of the last bottle, and stumbles out the door in search of his angel.

_ Rome. Paris. Bangladesh. Shanghai. Tokyo. New York. _ Not there… Crowley couldn’t even smell him. Even checked all the funny little shops where somehow, everyone knows who he’s looking for. He checks tiny towns reaching all corners of the world, going into even funnier shops and finding the oddest things. Nothing. Years spent travelling. Years spent searching.

Depressed, lonely, and more than a bit buzzed, he finds himself walking along the top of a cliff that edges the coastline of the English channel, drinking in the sky even more than the whiskey in his hand. The most beautiful sunset is going on in front of him, but his bleary eyes are just melting them all together. They swirl and burn. It gives him a headache. He turns around, towards the expanse of field in front of him, just to rest his eyes. But then, he spots it. A little cottage, that he could have sworn wasn’t there moments ago. There’s dim light pouring out of the windows, and he finds his legs walking towards it before his mind can catch up. They can feel something,  _ he can feel something. _

Sprinting, he reaches the cottage all pink and sweaty and out of breath. He pauses at the door for a moment, before wrapping on it with all his strength. A few seconds later, a short, chubby, man-shaped being with white hair opens the door.They both stand for a moment, staring at the figure before them.

“I’m so sorry, dear boy” Aziraphale’s blue eyes start to prick with tears.

“Angel,” Crowley lunges at him, an intense embrace that’s not unlike a snake that’s caught its prey “What the fuck!”

“I-I can explain” Aziraphale whispers, and makes to move into the cottage. Crowley is still firmly wrapped around him. An awkward spin and a lost grip later, the door is shut and they are in the living room. Well, Crowley is in the living room. Aziraphale, being ever so English, has bustled off into the kitchen to make tea.

A few minutes pass since the kettle whistled, and Aziraphale enters with a tea tray and biscuit tin. He sets them on the coffee table in front of Crowley. He sits next to Crowley on the love seat, adding three sugars and a splash of cream to his mug. Crowley is glaring at him as he takes a vice like grip on his cup, miraculously not shattering it. They sit there, the moments slipping by as frequent sips of chai.

“I was scared” Aziraphale breaks the silence, eyes begging to not meet Crowley’s. He forces them too, denying their protest. He can see where Crowley’s own eyes have been fighting tears; A ring of splotchy red and a not-all-whiskey-induced shine to them.

“Of what?” Crowley’s voice is hardly audible, even in the quiet

“Of you, of me, of everything. Of this.” Aziraphale sets down his cup, his hands creeping their way to hold Crowley’s. He stiffens, until Crowley laces their fingers together, bringing the back of Aziraphale’s hand to his lips in a barely there kiss across the skin. “I’m not now. I’ve caught up to pace. I’m ready for you, Crowley. I’m ready to make this right, ready to make a life with you, ready to make a home.”

“My darling,” Crowley leans in. He’s waited 6000 years for this, and he can’t wait another second. Aziraphale close the space, millimeters stretching for miles. And then it happens. A kiss; In it, promises are made, millions of words are read, thousands of meals are eaten, countless experiences are had together. Crowley pulls ever so slightly away, whispering, “Wherever you are is home.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Kudos and comments make me so very happy, and they motivate me to write more! 
> 
> If you feel so inclined (or want to hear me babble and drabble) follow me on tumblr!: @boy-garbage
> 
> I take prompts!!! You can either DM or send an ask on tumblr :> please make sure to read my prompt guidelines page before sending!


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